New Mustang Madness at Venice Beach

Rick the Hippie rode by us on a battleship-grey 1939 Schwinn--thin, wispy long hair waggling in the chilly breeze, wearing board shorts and a grey flannel Hurley jacket over four layers that puffed out and made him resemble a mushroom. We were having a conversation about the Shelby GT. His eyes, wrapped behind layers of tan wrinkles, lit up.

"There aren't no Chevrolets here!" he interjected.

"Huh?"

"Chevrolets. You don't want no Chevys here."

"Oh…oh, no, we were talking about Shelbys." In the cold, it was hard to enunciate.

"Shelby?" He looked at us, quizzically. "Carroll Shelby lives right up there!"

He pointed north.

"I'm sorry, did you say…"

"Yeah, Carroll Shelby! You know! He lives right up there, unless he moved or something."

The three of us glanced at each other.

"Well, you could say that he moved, I suppose," the other quipped. "Upwards."

Rick has lived in Venice Beach since 1958, a man sunbaked for half a century, a glib, drawling talker in search of an audience. He worked at the police impound for 30 years, witnessing all manner of vehicular shenanigans -- drunk-driving cases, fights with rock stars. "You know what they call Mitsubishis when they're stolen?" he said, apropos of nothing. "Miss-you-bishis!" He once recovered a Mustang where its owner had shot himself inside it. "Blew his head off," he said. "People buy dead cars all the time. What they don't know is that the smell never goes away!"

Rick owns -- or has owned -- three Mustangs, none of which were dead cars: a 2007, a 2009 and a 2011. He's definitely getting this one, he said matter-of-factly, gesturing toward the 2015 Mustang that Ford had parked at the end of the parking lot at Muscle Beach. From the morning's unveil in Hollywood, the impromptu car show and celebration was a straight shot down Venice Boulevard. The dry ocean chill cut to the bone. The few remaining tourists lingered on the bike path. About 50 Mustangs had turned up, their owners eager to gawk and preen, making the inevitable comparisons between the new Mustang and their own.

They were mostly newer Mustangs, but a few 1966s, a few 1967s and a 1971 Mach 1 appeared, a sinister foil to the original Eleanor's cheery yellow. The Shelby GT500KR from the aborted and abysmal Knight Rider remake showed up, its lights flitting quietly back and forth. Katy Perry herself had driven one 1967 Mustang in a music video, its placard proudly claimed, and it had been rebuilt after a rear-ending; its vanity plate read "DABEEST." Vaughn Gittin Jr. brought his Mustang RTR and his Formula Drift car. A tourist brought a rented convertible. A young kid brought a battered white 1967 automatic with a 200 inline-six; on steel wheels and wearing a black hood, it looked positively menacing. Irwindale Speedway parking passes littered the dashboard.

Then there was Hank, who bought a Dan Gurney-edition Saleen Mustang new in 2008, putting just 20,000 miles on it. "I don't drive it much," he said. The Gurney Mustang came about when Steve Saleen was in the midst of a coup d'etat ended up kicking him out of his company. He sued to get his name back and lost. "Steve wouldn't sign the dash on these because he was pissed. I finally got him to sign it with 'Dan Gurney.' He was willing, but he wasn't really happy about it."

Hank also owns an Aston Martin DB7 Jubilee Edition -- like a third cousin, there's a tenuous connection -- as well as a 1969 Mercury Cyclone Spoiler II Gurney Special. Hank's voice rose when he mentioned it; he started talking faster. Gurney had also signed his. The Spoiler II had a 30-degree sloping nose, which made it faster than the Torino Talledega, he said, excited like a father who was finally able to slap on an honor student bumper sticker. Not fiberglass, either! Real metal!

He also has a 1966 GT350 recreation in Guardsman Blue that mutual friend George Notaras just swears we have to check out. "What's in it?" we asked, naively. "Well…" Hank began, and the two shared a knowing look. He guffawed. Then, he took his shoe off.

"Uh oh," said Notaras. "I'm getting worried here."

Hank slowly peeled off a sock with his other foot. Anticipation quickened. Free of its sock prisoner, Hank's foot wiggled its big toe -- its nail painted dark blue. "See?" he beamed. "Ford blue! All my cars are blue!"

Blake Z. Rong
The toe in question.

The 2015 Mustang might be saddled with its own insipid hashtag, but we can safely say to Ford that we get it: Any grown man who paints his nails to match his Mustang won't have his loyalty called into question. Expect him to beat down the dealership door come fall 2014, check in hand -- his fingers stained blue from Guardsman polish.

By Blake Z. Rong